


3am (the morning-after mix)

by shihadchick



Category: U2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Side A remix of <a href="http://izzybeth.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://izzybeth.livejournal.com/"><b>izzybeth</b></a>'s <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/u2slash/333251.html">3am</a>; a What If? for the following morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3am (the morning-after mix)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://jigofspite.livejournal.com/profile)[**jigofspite**](http://jigofspite.livejournal.com/) and [](http://katrin.livejournal.com/profile)[**katrin**](http://katrin.livejournal.com/) for beta and second-pair-of-eyes-ing this. It wasn't quite what I was intending to write, but they helped streamline it far better.

* * *

Always a struggle to get up in the morning. Makes for a long day, it does. Bright and early to rise, even if most of the real work doesn't come till later, but them's the breaks, as they are.

Room 307, now, take this lot for example. In here yesterday, suitcases and coats over the chair, packet of biscuits left open on the table, wallets left on the side table in a touching display of belief in other people's honesty. Not that I'd look, mind. One of them straightened his sheets up, even, someone's mother trained him right, although the other was a bit of a mess, all tangled down one end under the duvet like he couldn't sleep sound. I took care of that, don't you worry, tucked and patted them both shipshape, hospital corners like we're meant to, not like that little drip Sharlene, leave her without supervision for a hot minute and you've got the most slapdash effort I ever did see. Kids these days, who knows how they get hired. Well, flash a bit of leg and that'll do it, I suppose, never could say much good about management, now, could we?

But this morning they've checked out, up and gone before ten, on the road, musicians, apparently. Can't say as I've heard of them, faces don't look a mite familiar, though you could say that I haven't exactly been paying attention these days. New music's all too loud, give me those nice lads from Liverpool any time, still, even if I do have to turn up the records a little louder these days, but that's age for you, now, isn't it?

Room's a bit of a mess, now - not like yesterday - same way most people leave 'em, to be honest. A bottle or three by the rubbish bin, sandwich papers, the rest of those biscuits, and the crumbs all over the table, too.

That's easy enough to deal with, course, just dust it all off and give it a good wipe-down, rubbish upends into my bag and it's fresh and clean again. Towels are on the floor - of course, boys will be boys no matter how old they are, can't think of the last time I had 'em hung up neatly and it wasn't nice young ladies in the room. Not that we get a peek at the register, mind, but you can always tell, and sometimes they'll be having a bit of a lie-in when we knock, always must knock, just in case. The things I've seen over the years by accident, oh, I could tell you stories.

Knocked this morning, actually, checking if the young gentlemen were needing any linens or the like; bit of a waste when they're leaving later, but you never can tell and sometimes there's a tip in it, or if they leave early it can save us some time later, getting the room all spick-and-span now. Didn't hear a sound at first, and I just had my key out- and the door wasn't even locked, my, they are trusting, can't remember where they're from although there's certainly a bit of an accent to my ear, maybe Scotland or Ireland or the North- and then I hear a "No, thank you," and some muffled cursing (the mouths on them these days, I'd have got a clip around the ear for it at that age!), like someone forgot their wake-up call, but that's not on my head so never mind about it, because they're gone now, aren't they? Walked on down to 308 after that - lovely couple, honeymooning, does my heart good to see them - and heard the shower start up behind me. That'll be another wet towel or three, I can just tell.

And I can see it's a good thing we didn't leave them any new sheets this morning after all, because one bed's fairly neat and all again - other side of the room this time, though, perhaps they'd switched? - just a pillow dropped haphazardly halfway down the side closest to the lamp, but the other is a fine mess. Sheets untucked, duvet hanging unevenly off the end, blanket puddled on the floor. The pillows are flat, and they're going to need a good wash, faint reek of stale beer and unwashed boy clinging stubbornly to them. My, my, someone had a late night, and that certainly explains the towels. None of this lot threw up, at least, small favours, I've cleaned up worse, of course, but it's never exactly a treat, and lord knows front desk will talk a big talk about charging 'em extra for it, but do I ever see a penny of that? Do I what.

The pillowcases and blanket tuck neatly into my cart when they're folded, and it's only when I tackle the sheets that I realise just why the other bed was so neat. Oh, my. Well, that was certainly not what I would've expected. I may be old, but no one's going to tell me that I haven't seen it all over the years, and I'm neither small-minded nor ignorant enough not to add those two together with this and get lovers. Well, well, well. Wonder how that works out for them, in their line of work. I hear it's all the rage these days anyway, with that Boy George and those others, perhaps no one even gives it a second thought now.

The sheets go in the cart too, along with the water glasses from the bathroom. Only one of them's wet, but you never can tell, and the health department'd be on us like a ton of bricks if we didn't mind what we were doing, got to clean it all.

Scrubbing down in there doesn't take half a tick, really, and perhaps they were neater boys than I give them credit for, they didn't move the furniture or break anything, unlike some others I could mention.

Back out into the room proper, and it's just dusting off the tables and I'm done, and I don't know how I missed it the first time, but there's an empty aspirin bottle - well and I'm sure someone earned a nasty head from last night - and a fiver tucked under it, a note apologising for the mess. Well, and isn't that sweet of them. Most people wouldn't think, let alone bother with that. Fits neat into the pocket of my apron, that does, and what Miss Priss down in the basement doesn't know about it ain't going to hurt either of us. I must say, I do wish them well, even if they are going to be something of a trial to the laundress.


End file.
